The Border With Haiti Motorcycle Adventure

Tom Junkans (cavebiker) - The Border with Haiti - Motorcycle Ride Report -- This is the route map color coded by day

- The Border with Haiti - Early in the twentieth century, the US military had built a stone road between Haiti and the Dominican Republic in an attempt to better define the border. No maps I’ve ever seen show the entire route. I read that most of this road or trail is unpaved and rarely used, covered with jagged tire gouging rocks, pockets of mud, and areas washed away from heavy rains. Also, it’s rumored that areas along the border are haunted by the wailing ghosts of dead Haitians who had fled there during the colonial era in order to escape slavery.

This all sounds good to me. I have been living on the island with my wife for the past 5 months, exploring the country by motorcycle. Before my old and abused bike completely falls apart, I need to attempt the Haiti border run. The time is now. I have no excuses.

Motorcycle adventuring is serious business, for the Haiti border run I need to be very serious. Heidi is my solid partner in every adventure I do, solo or 2-up with her. While getting ready we talk about my gear, its a mental shakeout; camping gear, survival gear, safety gear, first aid supplies, motorcycle tools, world-phone. Check.

The motorcycle is a 1984 Yamaha DT-125, a one cylinder, two-cycle enduro, striped down and painted black. This is a small but serious off-road bike, it has disk breaks and is water cooled. My only concern is the rough shape the bike was in when I picked it up five months ago and all the hard riding we have done on it. Wrenching on motorcycles has always been a joy of mine, but lately I have had too much joy.––broken shift lever, break linkage, radiator twice, headlight, flat tires, and a blown head gasket. I hope the problems are done.

This ride starts at a village called Cabarete Beach, once a small fishing village on the north coast of the island. Heidi and I lived here back in the 90’s and it’s a great base camp for exploring the island.

Only six miles into the ride and my new shift lever is loose again. Luckily there are motorcycles repair shops everywhere in the Dominican Republic. Out of 2.1 million registered vehicles, over 1.3 million are motorcycles. With all these motorcycles there appears to be a strong brotherhood among the bikers. As a solo foreigner motorcycle traveler, I am 'one' with this brotherhood. Riders look out for fellow riders here making it an enjoyable place for motorcycle adventure travel. I never feel alone, and that’s a good thing especially in the more remote areas.

Dominican Republic motorcycle repairs happen out on the streets, the sidewalk or anywhere where there is a spot to do it, tire change to new piston rings. And best of all, 'while you wait' service. I have been to a lot of shops here and all but once I received immediate service, absolutely incredible. My bill this time is only 50 pesos, a dollar forty US. With a 50 pesos tip, everyone is happy.

The shift lever seems good, all right! My goal today is the extreme northwest corner of the country, the village Monte Cristi. This is great off the beaten path route through real Dominican Republic. However, the route is not new to me, so today riding hard and fast feels good.

Monte Cristi is the end of the Dominican Republic and the start of Haiti on the Atlantic side, the start of the border run. Monte Cristi was once an important trading port used for shipping sugar and valuable lumber. Today the village is dusty and feels a little run down. The town supports farming, fishing and salt mining today.

A motorcycle is parked along the side of the road with a rider working on it. I ask if he would like to use my tools (?querers herramientas?) With my wrench he takes off his chain guard and throws it off into the weeds saying “!no neccesato!” (I don’t need it!) What a great feeling helping out a fellow rider, and around here, it is simply part of the culture. People help each other.

Only a half an hour down the border road and my shift lever is loose again and I am having a hard time shifting. In the next village at a motorcycle shop, I explain my concern. The mechanic is on it in seconds and confidently starts hacking on the shift lever with a hacksaw. He is trying to widen the gap where it clamps, making the lever clamp better, or at least that’s what I think he is doing.

Riding further the traffic increases with trucks loaded down with huge sacks of potatoes and there are coconuts sold roadside. I am always amized as to how fast the scenary changes here, you never have a chgance to get boared.

In a small village a women is frying empanadas on an open fires on the outside of a small store. An empanada is a meat, cheese or egg filled pastry found everywhere in the rural countryside and can be bought for between 30 and 60 cents.

At the largest of the border cities, Dajabon, my plan is to buy some packaged cookies for passing out to kids in the rural areas. The delight on their faces is priceless. Oddly, while stopping for gas, a man on crutches is waiting to sell me cookies. I couldn’t believe the coincidence. I buy all the cookies he has while I’m injected with a feeling of magic.

In town, it is hot, several Haitians are walking with overflowing bucket of stuff they hope to sell, all of it effortlessly balanced on top of their heads, (at least appearing effortless) this gives the city an exotic look and feel. In Dajabon, Haitians cross the border to sell wares of knock-offs; shoes, clothes, or almost anything. Dominican entrepreneurs travel to Dajabon with truckloads of food used to trade for these Haitian wares.

Homes are noticably more primitive and basic the higher the road climbs

The road continues up. While stopping to oil my chain near a river, a teenage local walks over and strikes up a conversation. Strangely, he asks for soap “?tiena habon?” motioning washing his armpits. No problem--- what a refreshing change compared to the kids pestering for pesos in the tourist areas.

More small villages along the border with clean streets and palm trees.

With only an hour of daylight to spare, I pull into the village Restauracion, the last village before the carretera internacional. Restauracion is a small but beautiful mountain village with churches and a large central park.

The village Restauracion is located just before a rough section of border road known as the ‘carretera internacional’. The carretera internacional is said to be lined with Haitian villages and huts painted with symbols of voodoo deities and is noted to be an extremely isolated section of road. I am spending the night in Restauracion so I can start this section of road early.

Looking for the Central Park after entering a new village is good protocol. Experience drives my inner voice “Look for a place to chill and get your bearings first Tom”

I check into an $8.00 hotel where I’m told I can park my motorcycle down a stairway next to my room.

Halfway down the stairway with my motorcycle a police officer starts holler at me in Spanish from behind. He asks how long I’ll be staying in town. Only one night “solo una noche”. After telling him my ride plan and solo status, he gives me a very serious look. I ask the dumb question “?es carretera seguridad?” is the road safe? He says “si” but continues his serious concerned look. ‘What the heck was that all about?’…!

It’s fun riding up the narrow steps the next morning.

Overnight, the street in front of the hotel exploded into a market that stretches for blocks in both directions.

In no time, half a dozen kids offer to shine my boots. I make eye contact with one kid and point “Lo sento, est mi numeral uno amigo…” (Sorry, this is my number one friend and he will be doing my boots). They all like my moto (motorcycle) and have fun hanging around me while I practice Spanish.

I ask one kid, “¿Vive en Restauracion?” (Do you live in Restauracion?)